


Silent Madness

by stargategeek



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargategeek/pseuds/stargategeek
Summary: "What's going to happen when they find us?" she whispered.  "Silent madness," he muttered.





	1. Silent Madness

Sansa stared out the window of the sleek Rolls-Royce Phantom I - nearly brand new, she assumed from the custom leather upholstery, and the meticulously cleaned flooring. She traced one finger along the dimple on the seat beside her, as she watched the scenery pass by her in a hazy blur.   
It had started out green, she noted, as they traversed outside the gates of Winterfell, her home. Then it had started to fade into oranges and browns the deeper they drove to the northeast, and the density of trees became sparser compared to the thick forests that surrounded the area she grew up in. Now it was grey as they traveled past the border lines into the Vale region. Farther away from any life she'd ever known.

"It's for your protection, Sansa," she could still hear her mother's voice as she had squeezed her shoulders comfortingly. "It's only for a while. You'll be safe there. Lysa is my sister - your aunt. I know you'll be looked after there."

"But I don't know anyone there, I won't have anybody!"

"You'll have your cousin Robin and Lysa, and the whole staff at the Estate, you will find someone. And..." her mother hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting for barely a flicker before returning to Sansa's glassy wide eyed stare. "...there is also your uncle."

"He sounds old and stuffy," Sansa pouted, crossing her arms.

"Watch what you say young lady," her mother cracked a small smile. "He's younger than I am."

Sansa smiled briefly then started to cry, falling into her mother's embrace. 

"Please don't send me away!" 

"Sansa," her mother shook her. "You must be strong, for me, for your father. We are not doing this because we don't love you, on the contrary your father and I love you all so very much, which is why we are trying to keep you all safe, and Winterfell is not safe anymore. You and your siblings are not safe all together. Bran and Rickon have been granted asylum in a private school for boys that is far enough away that no one will go looking for them, Arya is being sent to my Uncle Brynden in the Riverlands and you will be safe with Lysa. Only for a little while, I swear, then we will come and bring you home, I promise. Sansa, please, be brave, just this once."

Sansa blinked back a stray drop from the corner of her eye. It would do no good to cry now. It would only make her look sad and puffy when she arrived to the place she was going to have to call home for however long. She breathed in a deep sigh and looked over to her silent chauffeur. He'd accompanied her for several miles now and all he'd said to her in that time, was "Good day ma'am". He had both hands on the wheel, and they were so still she could count the stitching in each finger of his pristine burgundy driving gloves. 

"How long until we arrive at..."

"The Eyrie, my lady."

"Right, the Eyrie...and I'm not a lady anymore, I'm a refugee."

His face barely twitched with any acknowledgement or amusement. "We're less than a mile out, my lady."

Sansa sighed and flopped back into her seat. "What a terrible name for a place where people are supposed to live," she muttered out loud.

"It's actually quite beautiful this time of year," the driver interjected.

Sansa did not reply to that, returning her gaze out the window. She already missed her entire family, even Arya who she could barely stand. What she would give to suffer more of her sisters grating manners and boorish humour than drive another meter down this gloomy road. She missed her mother the most. She was so angry when she marched into this very car that she hadn't given either her parents a proper goodbye.  
Sansa wrapped her arms around her shoulders, resting her head against the glass. She continued to stare, willing herself not to think about the family behind her - dreading thinking about the family she was heading towards. The world outside the car grew greyer, and blurrier, until she lost all focus and attention to time and space.

She came to several minutes later, not realizing she had drifted off to sleep. The car was turning off of the main way onto a well-worn gravel road marked by a large stone archway with bits of coloured glass fit into a crescent shape in the keystone, and two rows of fenceless stone posts outlining the road that stretched for miles into nothingness behind it.

"Almost there, my lady," said the driver.

"Almost where?"

"The Eyrie."

"Why are there no other houses?"

"The main township of Gulltown is a little over 60 miles East of here."

"And besides that?"

"There is nothing besides that."

Sansa sat back once again, feeling a wary sinking feeling in her stomach. They drove for another few quiet minutes, passing nothing but fields of dewey unnaturally green yet still somehow bleak grass.   
The road began to incline upwards into a thick cloud of curling, wispy fog descending from the high mountain Sansa could barely see in the distance.   
About a mile up the road the car began to slow and Sansa sat up, looking over the divider. 

"What's wrong?"

The driver didn't answer. Up ahead Sansa could just see another vehicle - a small faded red truck - coming down at a furious speed. The chauffeur gently pulled up to the side of the road and came to a full stop, parking the car.

"Who is that?" Sansa asked. Again he didn't answer. He took off his hat, gently smoothed his hair and stepped out of the car, replacing the hat once his head cleared the door.

Sansa felt a similar knot form in her stomach as it did previously. Cautiously she sank in between the seats and crouched until only her eyes could peer over top the leather seats. The truck slowed and out stepped an older man in stained work clothes, with a worn cap on his head and an old dog following behind him. He looked to be some kind of groundskeeper, or gardener perhaps.

The chauffeur approached him, greeting him kindly, it appeared. Sansa watched intensely. Making note of every gesture and movement the two men made as they spoke. They didn't seem to be talking about her - not once had either of them looked back to the car where she was.   
The capped man suddenly pointed out in the vast reaches of rolling green to the left of them, and the chauffeur looked as well. Sansa's eyes followed peering through the window. She couldn't see anything in the field worth any note, but she did feel relief. Something told her she was definitely not the topic of conversation.  
She quietly crawled out of the vehicle and stepped on to the road. She looked over to her driver and the groundskeeper, still talking to each other intimately, she could barely make out a sound.  
It was quite brisk outside, though there was very little wind, and from where she stood it felt like she was standing at the base of some towering mystical mountain, surrounded by a thick magical fog that shielded a majestic castle from view. The cars were parked right on the edge of where the fog was beginning to spill over into the spatial green valley. It rolled down the sloping hills, slowly swallowing up the landscape as it went. It made the already bleak view even more dismal and foreboding. 

The groundskeeper's old dog suddenly brushed against her thigh. He was a blind, tatty old hunting dog and a bit drooly, his teeth in poor shape as well, but he smiled widely when she gently scratched his ears.

"Will you be my friend?" she whispered to the mangy old hound. It whimpered in what she believed was agreement. She smiled, thinking briefly about her old dog Lady, and how fast Lady could run. Sansa wouldn't be able to stop Lady from running into that grassy field. Hell, if she could run as fast as Lady could she would be gone as well.   
The old dog whimpered again and she looked down at it in sympathy.

"Promise not to tell?" she smiled, scratching his head once more.

She looked up and blinked seeing a figure in the grass bolting like a fox in the hunt down the rolling fields. She blinked again, and craned her neck a little further. It was a man. An older man, possibly in his forties, wearing a plain blue collared shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with white suspenders and brown trousers. He was running, running faster than any man she'd ever seen.   
Where was he running to, where did he expect to go? There wasn't anything for miles.

The dog, sensing the running man as well, let out a gruffled bark. The man stopped in his tracks and turned. His face turning to see Sansa, standing at the edge of the road in her little blue dress, her red hair barely contained in the loose braid her mother had formed it into before she had left that morning. Yet still the man stopped. She could just make out his face from the distance they were apart, but in that moment, if only for a brief flicker, she could feel his eyes boring into her. The breeze rippled the fog forming between them and Sansa felt the oddest feeling of understanding.

Then came the sound of the shot gun from out of the thick billious mist and he was running again. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sharp piercing sound, fear and excitement rolling into one overwhelming sensation. She saw him run, and she was overcome with a single desire. A desire to run right after him. She didn't know what it was, or who he was but before any logic could enter into her brain her feet were suddenly taking off into the field after the man.

The wet dew stained her stockings and whipped at her ankles. Her blue dress splayed behind her, like a flag, flapping behind her as a marker of her abandonment. Sansa was never the type to break rules or be reckless - that was Arya's forte. Sansa thrived on being perfectly acceptable and contained. Of sitting quietly and having good manners. She was not the type to go running after strangers in to foggy valleys. Honestly, she was shocked at herself for being so impulsive, and with such little forethought on her part. She could hear both the groundskeeper and his dog and her chauffeur calling after her. One called her name the moment she started running, but there were other voices, other men who were on the hunt.  
Dogs were barking, at who she didn't know, she swore she heard the sounds of horses hooves thundering in the distance. A horn blew.

Sansa was cursing herself for her reckless decision - she had no idea where she was going or what she'd do when she got there but she couldn't stop running. She followed the running man, his pace maddening, his determination as clear as lightning.

She chased him through the fields of perfectly manicured grass, until it began to yellow, and lengthen - until it was up to their hips. He ran through the long stalks of a wheat coloured sea into the dark expanse of a brambly thicket. Gnarled, and curled trees with beckoning fingers and grabbing hands that went for miles.   
He ducked in first, and then promptly vanished, as though he had been an apparition, a ghost.

Sansa stopped at the entrance to the dark little forest, her lungs burning from the run, her breathing ragged. She felt faint from the exertion and her legs ached in protest. Why did she run? She had never felt so exhilarated. But now she was lost, so very lost.

She looked behind her out into the golden field and saw the heads of the men that had been chasing after them, as well as the distinct hat of her driver and the groundskeeper's worn cap.

They were looking for her. She was a fugitive now. She hadn't even committed a crime.

"Sansa!" her driver called. "Sansa, it's ok, come back! Your aunt is waiting for you!"

Sansa's stomach clenched and she turned, turning deeper into the thicket.   
She couldn't stop. Her only hope was following after the running man. Her stocking caught on a craggy branch and tore, and she screamed when a tree reached down to yank at her dress. A bird cawed and a root reached from out of the ground to grab her foot, tugging her down to the forest floor. She got up, her foot sore from the fall, her clothes ruined, her hair a mess, and her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and suddenly...  
Sansa screamed as hands came around her and rapidly spun her around, pressing her into the base of a large tree. Her voice though, died in her throat when she saw who her assailant was. It was her running man. Her breath returned and her eyes began to take in this man's appearance. She had been right in surmising his age, he was definitely early forties. His hair was as dark as midnight save for two distinct streaks of silver across his temples.   
His eyes were green and grey, much like the grass and the mist - and they were boring into her with the most stunning disbelief. 

"You?" he whispered harshly, his voice as much like gravel as the road that brought her here. His eyes scanned over her meticulously from head to toe. "Who are you?" he whispered again, his face coming closer to hers, his eyes fixed on her till suddenly she could not tell where her breath ended and his began. His gaze was hard; examining her inch by inch; determining if she was human or figment. She watched with baited breath as his eyes came back to her face, where his own mouth broke into a soft lopsided curve - not quite a smile. A hand deftly left her shoulder, coming to a tendril of her hair and gently holding it in between his two fingers.

"Cat?" He muttered almost inaudibly - she almost didn't hear him utter the name.

Before she could answer a dog barked in the distance and suddenly he had spun her around again, a hand over her mouth. She was pressed tightly to him, her back to his chest, and he held them both securely behind the tree. 

"Shh," he whispered comfortingly in her ear, releasing his hand from her mouth.

A whistle. Another bark.

"Sansa!"

"Sansa," the running man whispered. His nose was pressed into the side of her head, into her hair. "Sansa," he repeated. 

"Why are they hunting you?" She asked quietly - almost rhetorically.

He didn't answer, only twisted his head to look behind the tree.

"What's going to happen when they find us?" she whispered.

"Silent madness," he muttered.

The dogs started barking excitedly and suddenly they were running again. Sansa's hand interlaced with the running man's. He led her, weaved her in and out and around all the crooked trees.

"Where are we going?" she cried.

He didn't answer, only led her further into the dark forest. The dogs barked behind them and she could hear the men shouting incoherently, and a horse whinnied in protest. The fog had grown so thick Sansa could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. 

The strange man pulled her behind what looked like a ruin - an abandoned stone structure in the centre of what must have been a clearing. Sansa could just make out the ring of the tree line through the mist. She was out of breath and panting hard. Her hand came up to the stone wall to brace her upon it as she fought to control the air coming into her lungs. After a moment, when her head started to clear and her body began to normalize her focus shifted - he was watching her, she didn't even have to look up to know that he was. She was looking at his shoes - brown leather oxfords like the ones her mother bought for her father for his birthday - shiny ones.

Her eyes scanned up from his feet to his eyes which were watching her with the most curious of expressions. He was as still as a statue, his breathing as flat and controlled as one sleeping. 

"You..." Sansa began to say, still struggling to catch her breath. "You called me Cat." His expression didn't change as she spoke. He remained still, his eyes piercingly grey. "Why did you call me that?" Sansa managed to stand upright, almost to her full height, just in time for him to step forward. She retreated backwards suddenly her back coming up to the decrepit stone wall behind her and he was on her, as fast as she could blink.  
Her heart caught in her throat as he hovered around her - barely an inch between them, his hands on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her there. 

"Don't hurt me," she pleaded in the smallest voice she had.

"I won't," he whispered back, softer than she had anticipated.

His hands slowly left the wall to cup her head. His fingers entangling with the curls of her hair as he moved that fraction closer.

"You look exactly as I remember," he muttered.

"Remember..." Before she could finish her thought he leant in and cut her off with his lips gently pressed against hers. It was soft and brief, his body retreating quickly from her suddenly, like her lips had burnt him - and the look on his face was unreadable. Sansa stood stock frozen pressed against the ruins, unable to move, unable to breath.

A snap from a fallen twig snagged his attention and he finally looked away, taking a step towards the sound. 

She heard voices and a dog bark but she was already sinking to the ground, her vision getting heavy and darker - she only barely realized she was fainting before the world went out completely.


	2. Uncle Petyr

Sansa heard her mother's voice, calling out her name. It was far in the distance and she was running through a thick twisted forest towards it.

_"Sansa...Sansa darling...Sansa..."_

"Mother!!" Sansa called after it. The roots of the trees grabbed at her legs, pulling at the hem of her blue dress. The more she ran the more the forest stretched out and the farther her mother became. "Mother please!" She cried desperately, reaching out her hands.

 _"Sansa! Sansa wake up!_ Sansa!"

Sansa opened her eyes widely, blinking back the sleep from the corners. The room was unfamiliar to her, and strange. It was dark green with varnished wood panelling, a strange chandelier of antlers floating just above Sansa's head. She was lying on a settee of a strange green pattern with what looked like Hawks neatly woven in to the design.

"Sansa," the voice from her dreams shook her shoulder. A flash of red hair. Sansa almost jumped up in absolute relief - to think! Her mother had come for her! But the moment she was upright she saw that the red hair did not belong to her mother, it belonged to a different woman entirely. A wiry woman with sharp features, not unlike a Hawks - and the most piercing eyes she had ever seen. Not the colour so much as the way they seemed to look at her. Like they could see every movement she would or possibly could make. Sansa did not much like the way this woman looked - and her attempts at an inviting smile only deepened her discomforting visage. "Oh you're awake my sweet girl!"

"Hullo," Sansa muttered dumbly. "You must be my Aunt Lysa." The hair was unmistakable. Her mother said she would know it anywhere - it was the Tully red.

A fire crackled behind her Aunt's back, creating a hellish glow behind the strange woman.

"You had me worried, Sansa darling, when they brought you in, out cold, I was sure you were dying from shock," her Aunt cooed icily. "Such a fright you must've had."

"I can't really recall what happened," Sansa rubbed her head, feeling a lump on the left side.

"You hit your head when you fainted, as Brune tells it."

Who was Brune? Sansa couldn't remember anyone with a name. Was it her running man?

"I remember running..."

"Yes, spooked by the gun shots I suppose, a light hunting game your Uncle likes to play. I can imagine you must have thought you were being led into some sort of madhouse, with a greeting party like that."

"I suppose so..."

"But you are safe now my dear, your Auntie is here, and I will take the utmost care for you - as if you were my own!" Lysa stood up regally, showing off the long dark blue empire waist gown, with the intricate white lace blouse and frock to match. Her red hair was piled into a billowing orb atop her head, and a cameo sat poised on the base of the high neck covering her long spindly throat. She stretched her long wiry arms out all the way to her spidery fingers and there she stood, waiting to be enamoured.

It took Sansa a moment to realize she was being invited to embrace her Aunt - long several seconds of an uncomfortable hesitant silence before Sansa finally stood and tentatively reached her arms out to join with Lysa's. The hug itself was stiff and awkward, Lysa was boney and felt cold compared to the warm loving arms of her mother, and when she pulled away her grip was just a touch too hard on her upper arms, the woman's gaze was still a little bit too much like steel.

"Come my darling," Lysa brushed a lock of hair from Sansa's face. "You must be famished. I've awoken you just in time for dinner," Sansa was gently guided outside of the parlour into a grand foyer of grey marble stone with a beautiful stained glass window over the front door of a moon and star. The pattern glowed bright blue on the floor in the centre before a grand staircase that swooped up into the rest of the house with one set of stairs leading west and another leading east and a connecting bridge between the two that lead to presumably a grand ballroom or a library, or a hall of magnificent gothic portraits. Sansa could only guess. The house was more like a medieval castle than a home.

Lysa walked swiftly, her skirts brushing behind her like treads in the water. Her red hair bobbed slightly with each movement. Sansa felt like she had to jog briskly to keep up with the woman.

"I'm afraid it will just be the two of us tonight. My Sweetrobin, your dear cousin, is bedridden for the evening - a spring cold I'm afraid, he's terribly susceptible to the changing in the weather, and my husband, your Uncle, he's..." Lysa paused for a moment, a deceptively blank look crossing her face. "He's indisposed at the moment, perhaps he'll join us later in the evening."

"He must be a busy man," Sansa muttered.

"What was that? Speak up child, mumbling is for animals," Lysa said sharply.

Sansa cleared her throat with a slight cough. "I only said that your husband must be a busy man, what with your house. It's very beautiful."

"Oh this old place. This place originally belonged to my first husband, a lord, if you can believe. The Vale Manor has been in the Arryn name for five generations."

"And now?"

"What about now, my dear child? Be specific."

"Whose name is the house in now...now that your first husband has..."

"Died. How do you know he died?"

"Well this house belonged to him as you said...if he were still alive he would still be living here I would think..."

"Clever girl," Lysa smiled. "You're right though. My husband passed almost ten years ago, rather tragically, a heart attack. He was rather old you see - an arranged marriage set up by my father, he always wanted me to marry well, just like he did your mother. Of course your mother lucked out finding your father, a young handsome noble man whom she loves. I, however, was not so lucky, but I am now. With my first husband gone I was given the freedom to choose the man I'd always wanted, and now I couldn't be happier. This is a lesson for you, my sweet niece, never marry for convenience, marry for love, and you will have every convenience at your disposal."

Lysa opened the door to a beautiful dining room, a smaller room than one might expect after seeing the foyer, but it was elegantly dressed. The dining table was long and made of old oak, and the room was darkly lit save for a large silver candelabra and several dim light fixtures in the shape of inverted triangles on the wall. The wall paper was an elegantly patterned deep lavender and the floor to ceiling windows looked out upon the grounds, now clear of mist and fog.

"Please, my dear, sit here," Lysa walked around to one side of the table and pulled out the chair for Sansa, elegantly gesturing with her hand for Sansa to sit.

Sansa politely nodded and made her way to the chair, even quicker when Lysa snapped her fingers.

"There," Lysa put her hands on Sansa's shoulders once she was seated. "You look pale, sweetie, you must be famished," Lysa began combing Sansa's hair with her fingers. "Such beautiful hair you have, my dear, just like your mother's and mine."

Sansa couldn't help it at the mention of her mother - it all flooded back to her, the fact that she was far away from her family, her home, and the only life she had ever known. She covered her face with her hands as the tears started to spill down her cheeks.  
Lysa lent down and wrapped her arms around the quivering girls shoulder and softly rocked her, cooing gently.

"Shh, it's ok Sansa," Lysa sighed, stroking her arm. "You will see her again. Till then we are going to have so much fun here. You're going to get along so well with your cousin Robin and you will go on so many adventures. You will have so many stories to tell your whole family when you return. Doesn't that sound grand, darling girl?"

Sansa sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Yes, Aunt Lysa," she muttered miserably.

"I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you've had a tough day, sleep on it and then wake up tomorrow completely refreshed and you will see all your worries behind you," Lysa kissed the top of her head then in a large flourish glided to the head of the table and sat down. She produced a small hand bell from somewhere on her person and rang it, signalling for their dinner to be brought in. Lysa smiled warmly at Sansa one last time, before straightening her spine and placing herself in the most poised and regal position that she could manage. Sansa wiped her nose with her sleeve and cleared her throat, her tears giving way to curiosity. There was something odd about her dear sweet Aunt; something so very different from her mother, but Sansa could not articulate it. It was in the way she held herself, the edges of her mouth when she smiled betraying something distinctly less warm. Her eyes were still so sharp and exacting, and her nose fierce and pointed. Perhaps it was her too boney fingers that gripped the stem of her goblet just a tad too firmly, or the way she cut her food into exact little portions before chewing them in her put-upon elegance. Sansa didn't know who Lysa was trying to impress or if this was just how she presented herself but it rang false to every one of Sansa's sensibilities that it made her more and more wary of the woman.

"Sansa, eat, you haven't touched your food," Lysa said with a tone of concern, her brows scrunching slightly to express tenderness, though her eyes were still as cold and dark as ice.

"I'm sorry," Sansa looked down at the plate in front of her. The carvings of dark bleeding roast and the vibrant peas, succulent carrots, and perfectly whipped potatoes; it all looked delicious but Sansa couldn't move, her arms glued to her sides, her stomach grumbling in protest. "It looks very good," Sansa continued. "I was just thinking..."

"What of, sweet girl?" Lysa brought a perfect cube of roast to her mouth and began to chew delicately, her facial muscles barely flinching with the action.

"Just...there was a man..."

"What man?"

"In the field. They were shooting at him," Lysa spluttered and coughed, losing her poise at Sansa's words. "I followed after him into the woods."

"Sansa!" Lysa admonished. "There is something to be said about girls who go around following strange men into forests," she fixed Sansa with a pointed glare that made her insides drop.

"I didn't know...I'm sorry..."

"Oh, you're so young, my dear," Lysa turned affable once again. "I'm sure you don't know what you saw."

"Who was he?" Sansa asked tentatively.

"Oh, one of the stable hands I'm sure, trying to find a lost horse or one of the dogs. These things happen you know."

"What about my Uncle?"

Lysa again lost her poise, if very subtly, her whole body went rigid for a moment as her cool eyes turned to Sansa once more.

"Your Uncle?"

"He was playing a game you said, a hunting game he likes to play, that's why he's not here having supper with us right now."

Lysa turned red in an instant. "Young lady!" she said hotly. "I will not tolerate tall tales in this house!"

"It's not..."

"Your uncle, bless his sweet soul, is a busy man, how dare you rope him into your stories! You haven't even had the pleasure of meeting your dear sweet uncle, and you are already making up lies about him. Has my sister taught you nothing about courtesy, or has she not had the time with that raucous brood of hers? Has living with so many boys made you into an animal?"

"But you said..."

"Enough Sansa!" Lysa snapped. "Now I realize that you are very far away from home for the first time, and you are scared, and you are homesick, so out of the goodness of my tender heart I am apt to forgive you just this once. Tonight I will let you finish your supper, bathe, and then retire to your bedroom for the night, because you are young, and you don't know any better - but take note, my dear niece, any more talk like this in the future and I will send you to your room without any supper, do you understand me, girl?"

Sansa nodded, biting her lip to keep herself from crying.

"Good," Lysa returned to her poised position in her chair and once again began delicately slicing her food. "And when you finally meet your dear Uncle you will apologize for slandering his name so."

Sansa nodded, looking down to hide the red in her cheeks. She should've expected this - she always knew that coming here would be horrible, why pretend now? Sansa just wanted to go home and be with her mother and father, far away from these weird people and their weird lives.

A door in another room opened and shut, causing Sansa to jump a little.  
Lysa got up from her seat, dabbing at her mouth with her kerchief.

"Stay here, child, I won't be a moment."

Lysa briskly left the room, leaving Sansa alone to scrape at her mashed potatoes. After a tense moment of silence her fork dropped unceremoniously with a loud clank against the china plate as Sansa brought her hands up to her face to catch the loud wracking sobs falling from her mouth and eyes. She hated them, she hated them all, every single last one of them; for sending her here; for not being as lovely and warm and safe as she'd wanted; for causing enough trouble to warrant her being sent here in the first place. It was all their fault, everyone's, her father, her mother, Aunt Lysa, her brothers, Arya. Sansa hadn't done one thing wrong in her life and now she was here. Scared and alone with her weird aunt and her husband, who, judging by the woman he married, was probably just as unpleasant, no, even more so. Everything was just so horrid!

She could hear the clicking of Lysa's heels approaching and she quickly choked back her sobs by gulping some water and wiped her face with the linen napkin. She picked up her fallen fork and quickly put a mouthful of potatoes in her mouth, chewing slowly and swallowing quickly to make it look as though all she'd been doing was eating, not sitting here crying.

Sansa kept her head down low as the door to the dining room opened and Lysa walked through, returning to her seat at the head of the table. She picked up the bell near her plate and rang it, alerting the staff. A long faced butler entered, bowed, and approached Lysa.

"Set another place at the table for my husband, and a glass of the Arbor Gold," Lysa instructed curtly. "Sit up Sansa, there is no slouching at the table." Sansa quickly complied, shifting herself so that she sat high, but kept her gaze low. "You're in luck, sweetie, your uncle sees it fit to join us, he will be here presently. You will be courteous to him, won't you?"

"Yes Aunt Lysa," Sansa muttered.

"And look at him when he addresses you. You and I are family, certain liberties can be taken, but your Uncle is a gentleman, and deserves your full attention."

"Yes Aunt Lysa."

"And for heaven's sake dab some water on your face, you are all red and puffy."

Sansa winced, embarrassed that she still looked like she had been crying.

The door opened again and she could here the soft footfalls of the man who was to be her beloved Uncle. Apparently a saint, by the way Lysa talks about him. Sansa could just picture him now, he was either large and round with terrible breath and an unpleasant look about him, or like her Aunt, tall and gaunt, with hollow cheeks and beady eyes; with a hawk-like nose, who poses more than stands, and only looks at her with disdain. Either way, she just knew she wasn't going to like this man.

Her gaze remained down, even as he entered. He was quiet, going over to her Aunt to gently kiss her on the cheek and whisper something into her ear. Sansa could just see his hand draping across Lysa's in the corner of her periphery. His thumb rubbing over the skin on the top of her knuckles as he spoke to her. Lysa's face warmed at his touch, and she cooed at his words.

Sansa felt self-conscious and a little ill from eating so fast, exacerbated by the weird way Lysa stroked her Uncle's arm. But still, Sansa kept her head down, waiting to be addressed.

"My dear," Lysa cleared her throat after a moment, hesitantly pulling herself away from her husbands attentions. "Sansa, this is your Uncle Petyr."

Sansa slowly lifted her gaze to meet the man now standing directly in front of her. For a moment she could do nothing but stare. The smirk, the eyes, the hair, she had seen it all before. It was her running man!

"Hello Sansa," the corners of his mouth lifted in the subtlest of smirks. He'd changed his suit and put slick in his hair, but it was him, none the less. "A pleasure to meet you."

"U-Uncle Petyr," Sansa said dumbly before promptly unloading the contents of her stomach on to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just sitting here, listening to sad music, drinking wine, and watching the world burn.

**Author's Note:**

> Doing a bit of an idea purge. Seeing what sticks. 
> 
> Apparently all my works are writing experiments.


End file.
